


Challenge One - Authority

by Trojie



Series: Pornalot 2016 [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon Era, Cock Warming, Lap Sex, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Master/Servant, Post-Battle, Roughness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-08 22:22:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7775944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trojie/pseuds/Trojie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Battles take a lot out of both of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Challenge One - Authority

**Author's Note:**

> I will stop writing post-battle Merlin/Arthur PWP precisely never. Sorry, not sorry <3
> 
> This fic placed first in the challenge and I'm all blush-y and aflutter about it /o\

The argument continues all the way from battlefield to bedchamber. Insofar as it can be an argument when only one person is speaking. 

'- got yourself killed, _again _,' Merlin is saying in hurt, urgent tones, clearly unwilling to be seen berating his king in the public corridors, but unable to stop himself from speaking at all. 'How would that have benefited Camelot? How do you build Albion from your grave, Arthur?'__

__Arthur puts his head down and walks, stoic. His armour feels unnaturally heavy, and he's sore all over. No wounds, for which he has Merlin to thank, and that's why he lets Merlin speak like this, vent this emotion at him. Because Merlin has a right to be heard. No-one else bears even half as much of the brunt of the battles Arthur fights in as Merlin._ _

__In the dressing room, Merlin keeps talking, naming Arthur a fool for this move or that, bleeding off the fear that swamps him after a battle (always after - he's fearless during, or so it seems) at the same time as he strips Arthur of his armour, gambeson and hose, his sweat-soaked smallclothes, and leads him naked to the steaming bath behind its screen. He rolls up his sleeves and scrubs Arthur pink-raw, muttering foully over every bruise he finds. He isn't gentle._ _

__At last he hauls Arthur bodily from the cooling water, and dresses him again - in soft things, warm and delicate. 'I just don't want you to -'_ _

__They cross the threshold into the bedchamber proper, and Arthur turns around and catches Merlin by the wrist, mid-sentence._ _

__'Stop,' he commands. 'No more of that.'_ _

__Merlin raises his eyes to Arthur's mulishly, but obeys._ _

__'Kneel,' Arthur tells him, and Merlin sinks to his knees before Arthur has even finished the word._ _

__'Good. You served me well today,' Arthur says, running his fingers through Merlin's hair. It's tousled by unnatural winds and clumped by blood into little rollags. 'My good, faithful servant.'_ _

__'Does milord wish his cock sucked?' Merlin asks, reaching for Arthur's trousers. And yes, milord does, but there is too much insolence in Merlin's tone yet. Arthur pulls away._ _

__'Fetch me a basin and washcloth,' he says. 'Warm water, Merlin, not cold.' While Merlin is fetching the water, Arthur pulls the chair out from his desk, leaving plenty of space. Sitting brings a sigh of relief he didn't entirely intend to let out._ _

__Merlin looks at him over the bowl of water, and there is still an unacceptable quantity of calculation in that look. Merlin is fretting over Arthur. This will not serve. Arthur takes the water. 'Kneel,' he says again, pointedly. 'This time, I want you to do it properly, back straight, hands behind you.'_ _

__Merlin has to be as sore as Arthur is, surely, but he's graceful as he goes to the floor. Now, his eyes are hooded, his expression softer, and he's positioned exactly as Arthur told him, wrists crossed behind his back, spine ramrod straight. Arthur unlaces his trousers and offers his prick to Merlin's soft, waiting mouth. 'No sucking,' he orders. 'Just hold me. Wet me. If you take before you're given, there will be consequences.'_ _

__Merlin's eyes flutter shut. Arthur slides his cock over that plush lower lip and has to force himself not to shudder, or worse, to spend early. Control is hard after a day fighting for your life, but Arthur has plans._ _

__First, he reaches for the washcloth, wrings it out and begins, wiping the smutches from Merlin's face. A smear of black-brown blood from his temple reveals a wet, raw cut underneath, and Merlin winces, but doesn't move, as Arthur cleans it out. He twitches when Arthur works the tangles and dirt out of his hair, but his hands stay clasped behind his back, his mouth stays lax, wet, pliant. When Arthur looks down he sees the sooty smudge of Merlin's lashes against his pale cheeks, and maybe the glimmer of a tear._ _

__It suddenly hits him, how young Merlin is, how unready for the war that Arthur is leading them towards._ _

__'Come up here,' he says hoarsely, and pulls Merlin off his now very hard cock. 'Hands as they are,' he adds, supporting Merlin as he clambers, unsteady and off-balance, to straddle Arthur's lap._ _

__Arthur pulls the clothes off him piece by piece, uncaring of where they land, and continues with the washcloth, until Merlin is arching and practically purring under his touch. Then he picks up something else from his desk._ _

__Merlin gasps when Arthur's slick fingers breach him, but he pushes down. 'No,' says Arthur, stilling Merlin with his other hand. 'Be good. I know what you need.'_ _

__It takes an effort, but Merlin shakily forces himself to be still again. Arthur fucks him open, until three fingers move easily in him and he's making soft, beautiful, pleasure-hurt noises every time Arthur crooks them. When he buries his face in Arthur's shoulder, too overcome to hold himself up, Arthur withdraws._ _

__'You're going to ride my cock until you come,' he says, steadying Merlin by the hips._ _

__'Yes,' Merlin croaks. 'Let me make you come, milord.'_ _

__'No,' says Arthur, and he fucks up into Merlin's body to punctuate it. Merlin cries out. 'You're going to let me make you come.'_ _

__Arthur fucks him hard and Merlin leans into it, takes it, squirms and cries and _unravels_ all over Arthur's lap until he's coming in hot, wet gouts. Arthur sinks his fingernails into Merlin's hips and spends deep in his body, gritting his teeth against the noises he wants to make. _ _

__'Well, now we both need a bath. Another bath, in your case,' says Merlin after a while._ _

__Arthur doesn't want to joke, though. 'I wouldn't be able to do this without you. You're the other half of me,' he says, cradling Merlin's sharp-boned face in his hand._ _

__Merlin smiles like he's laughing at some private joke, and kisses Arthur's palm. 'I'm your servant,' he says. 'Always.'_ _


End file.
